


Never Trust a Holt

by CGotAnAccount



Series: ADVENTure Is Out There! [11]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Implied Sheith, Katt - Freeform, M/M, Matt's evil as usual, casual blackmail, implied fake marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21752899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: It's not the act of staring itself that's setting Keith's spidey-senses on high alert, but the calculating look behind it. Usually this amount of staring is closer to leering, occasionally accompanied by the lick of his lips or a waggling eyebrow – the usual lame Holt signals that Matt wants the dicking down of a lifetime. Today though, his eyes have that dangerous gleam, the one that tells Keith he's soon to be on the receiving end of a patently terrible idea.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Matt Holt/Keith
Series: ADVENTure Is Out There! [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558660
Comments: 20
Kudos: 99





	Never Trust a Holt

**Author's Note:**

> Day 11 of Adventures!

Matt's been staring far too long to be comfortable.

It's not the act of staring itself that's setting Keith's spidey-senses on high alert, but the calculating look behind it. Usually this amount of staring is closer to leering, occasionally accompanied by the lick of his lips or a waggling eyebrow – the usual lame Holt signals that Matt wants the dicking down of a lifetime. Today though, his eyes have that dangerous gleam, the one that tells Keith he's soon to be on the receiving end of a patently terrible idea.

“Hey Keith,” Matt drawls, overly light and casual as can be. Like he's not obviously plotting something.

“No.”

The airy facade crumbles into a pout as Matt huffs and slumps onto the table in front of him.

“You don't even know what I was going to say.”

“Don't need to,” Keith grunts, not stopping his slow scroll through Shiro's latest gym pictures on the recruitment page. “I can see your scheming face.”

Said face scrunches up in annoyance before Matt tries to rearrange it into something more neutral. It's laughable at best, with the fluttering eyelashes and sickeningly sweet smile. Keith doesn't react beyond a loud exhale through his nose and the ghost of a smirk.

“Asshole, look at me.” Matt waves a hand in his direction and flutters harder. “Fall prey to my charms and raw animal magnetism.”

Keith looks – a long, dry thing as he takes in the full effort of Matthew Holt's wiles. It's not particularly compelling, but somehow he knows he's going to get roped into whatever today's bullshit is anyway.

Of course, that doesn't mean he's going to make it easy for him.

“What am I supposed to be looking at, yesterday's scraggly mustache or the crusties in your eyes?” He keeps his tone pointedly bland, the better to infuriate his wiry friend. “Is that the best you've got to offer these days?”

“Uh, rude.” Matt scowls and gives up, letting his palms slap to the table as he returns to the vaguely creepy staring. “I'm trying to beam the best idea ever into your skull, but it's too thick.”

“It's not the only thing.” Keith winks at him and reaches down to cup himself with a lewd lick of his lips, doing his absolute best to derail the conversation permanently.

Matt's sigh is long suffering. He may be equally as shameless as he is persistent, but even he can't fight the heat that creeps into his cheeks while Keith rubs himself with a smirk. Normally that kind of thing would lead to a messy tumble on the couch, but he has a plan.

“Stop touching your dick and listen to me for five minutes,” he grumbles, waving Keith over and ignoring the stirrings of his own interest. “I'll suck it later once you appreciate my genius.”

“I'll hold you to that.”

Keith saunters over and plops himself down across the table in front of Matt, arms crossed and ear cocked in a way that's only vaguely mocking. Truth be told, Matt's ideas are usually at least as fun as they are terrible – and they only end in bodily harm about a quarter of the time. It's been a while since either of them have had the excitement of potentially losing a few fingers anyway.

“So, what's the great Holt patented idea this time?”

Grinning, Matt spreads his fingers on the table like he's spreading out the map of psyche.

“Okay, so... you know how Lance and Allura got all that shit?”

Keith squints at him.

“You mean the wedding gifts? For married people?”

Matt flaps a hand, waving away the pesky logic.

“Yeah, those.”

He pauses to cast a pointed look around their apartment, the threadbare couch and dented coffee table showing their age. If they wanted to, they could certainly live on base in the Garrison provided accommodations and have plenty of shiny new toys to fill their soulless hovels with – and probably a few cameras to hunt down and remove. As it is, they've opted for the relative freedom of living off base, but the meager stipend combined with the lack of non-essential items after the occupation means they're not exactly living large.

“I was thinking we could use a new kettle... or a chair,” Matt hedges, taking a flying leap past subtlety and landing squarely in ridiculous pipe dream territory. “Maybe set up one of those websites where you pick out five different types of plates with lions on them just to let Kosmo eat like a king.”

It's a cheap trick, bringing Kosmo into it. They both know it – but Matt seems to be forgetting one crucial aspect.

“Yeah, that's great and all Matt,” Keith drawls like he's talking to a particularly slow child. “But they got that stuff because they got married... you know, like two people do when they love each other very much and want to-”

“Oh my god, shut up.” Matt reaches across the table in a failed effort to slap a hand over Keith's mouth, yanking back to avoid the click of sharp teeth. “I've got a plan for that.”

“Like what?” Keith scoffs, rolling his eyes at the way Matt nurses his nonexistent bite wound. “You're just gonna pimp one of us out for the wedding gifts?” A devilish grin creeps across his face before slipping into a look of faux innocent thought. “You know, you'd probably have the best luck convincing Pidge to marry someone.”

It doesn't work.

“I know.” Matt grunts, face screwed up in distaste. “She would be the obvious choice for collaboration since our goals would align nicely, but the registry would be a nightmare of computer parts.” He shrugs, looking at his runner up candidate with a wry smile. “Besides, what I really need is someone who can at least fake human emotion.”

Keith can't fight down the reflexive scowl fast enough to avoid the finger guns.

“Like that.”

“Shut up.”

Hands raise in surrender. “I'm just saying, you won't even have to fake it if we can convince Shiro to help us out and play groom number two.”

It's a wonder steam doesn't start pouring out of Keith's ears with the way his face goes instantly crimson.

“ _Shiro_ is going to be the other groom?” The words are barely a squeak as Keith leans forward so far he's crushing his own ribs into the edge of the table. “How are you gonna pull that off?”

Matt shrugs.

“Easy. I'm gonna tell him that I've got blackmail on you and I'm marrying you off to a total rando for free shit if he doesn't agree to help.”

“That's... not entirely true, and kinda evil.” Keith nods, begrudgingly impressed. “But I'm not gonna make him do that just so we can get a new couch.”

Matt leans back, kicking his feet up on the table as he presents a data pad with a flourish.

“Well you see, my friend.” He pulls up a few documents – what looks like a marriage license only missing his signature, an addendum to their lease, and an entire pre-filled wedding registry. “You don't have much of a choice... remember that night back on Valrex IV with the nunvill and tub full of Olkarian gelatinous warming cream?”

He swipes twice to pull up a video of a very drunk Keith and hovers over the play button.

The pad is snatched, signed, and thrust back into those grubby hands before any more can be said.

“I thought you'd see it my way.”

Never trust a Holt.


End file.
